


Crossing the Stream

by CuidightheachRose72



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Love, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Relationship(s), Spells & Enchantments, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2020-03-07 17:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuidightheachRose72/pseuds/CuidightheachRose72
Summary: Draco and Harry are back at school after the war, and the students are suffering from the stress of the past, idk, seven years. Not to mention, dark magic is still clinging to places it really shouldn't be.





	1. Crash

He was fucked. Really, royally fucked. So fucked it was redundant. Draco combed his fingers through his hair and reread the missive that had been sent urgently to him in class. His father had been caught trying to seek asylum in France, and was now under house arrest at the Manor, no doubt threatening to murder anything that moved. Draco couldn’t go home with him there, he just couldn’t. He looked up from the note, gulped down the tears that threatened to give him away, and rushed out into the hallway as the loud protests of Slughorn faded behind him. 

As he walked, his breathing became labored and a dark cloud formed around his vision. He was panicking, he knew that, but the dungeons were so far and there were an impossible number of eyes watching him. Students stared after him as he nearly ran down the ancient hallways, and they whispered to themselves. He heard every word. “Death Eater,” they murmured, “why is he even here?” It was almost as if he were blind now, making turns and waiting as the stairs shifted purely out of muscle memory. He only vaguely saw the blurs of gray and yellow made by the walls and their candles, or the smell of lunch cooking, or the dust that still clung to every area of the castle from the damage of battle. He couldn’t tell if the sound rushing in his ears was blood or the sounds of judgement, and he started to sprint. 

Either he had been cursed or this was the worst day of his life, because as he turned sharply into the next hall after careening down the stairs, he was jabbed painfully in the stomach by a girl holding a stack of books. Everything came into the sharpest focus as he flew back into the ground and the wind was knocked from his lungs. It was Granger. She stared at him through her bushy, muddy hair, and he suddenly felt the need to rip her to shreds. He stood and leered at her, peering down while she picked up her books and dusted herself off. As she rose to her feet, Draco ran back into her, pushing her roughly into the wall.

“Watch where you’re going next time you filthy mudblood,” he sneered, and walked away with as much poise as he could possibly muster. 

“Excu- You ran into me Malfoy!” She shouted down towards him, but he had already turned the corner. Nonetheless, he heard, and he couldn’t stop hearing the echoing words until he was safely in his bed, letting out broken sobs into his mattress and praying that he would never have to go home. 

 

“It was bizarre, actually,” Hermione said, sitting down between Harry and Ron, after explaining what had happened in the hallway. The November decorations were up in the great hall, and the holiday season seemed close enough to touch. Instead of commenting on the fantastic decor, however, Hermione had chosen to discuss the one person in the whole school that Harry was actively trying not to notice. Harry pretended not to be interested, choosing instead to delicately pour them all pumpkin juice from a large gourd. Ron looked about ready to throw a hex stronger than firewhiskey, and he mentioned as much. “Don’t be silly,” Hermione replied, “Malfoy has been the picture of congeniality the last two months. He even studied in the library with the Ravenclaws a few weeks ago. I must have just caught him in a bad moment.” Harry nodded at her, deciding that it would be less than ideal for Ron to go throwing hexes, lest they have another slug fiasco. 

“Maybe he got some bad news, I heard that his father was on the run,” Dean helpfully supplied from across the table.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said, trying to take the focus off Malfoy so that he could enjoy his lunch. He glanced over to the Slytherin table and failed to find the telltale blond head. 

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Ron seethed, putting a protective hand on Hermione’s back. “You should at least report him Mione, he shouldn’t get to call you slurs and get away with it.” She smiled back as him. 

“As much as I agree, I don’t think he needs to be taken to McGonagall over just one slip. We’ve all been through enough.” Hermione said, and nobody could argue with that. 

Harry didn’t know why any of the Slytherins had come back for an Eighth Year at all. Having a life full of being called a savior by complete strangers is bad enough, but he couldn’t imagine what being known as the villain would be like. He heard the whispers about them, he knew the gossip. In fact, he was nearly grateful for the distraction, because the last few months had been filled with letters and thank yous and confessions of undying love, which drove Harry up a wall. It was much easier to sit back and enjoy the peacefulness of other people getting the attention for once, even if it wasn’t necessarily good attention. 

Harry didn’t know why they came, but still they did. He saw kids who’s only misstep in the war was being placed in the wrong house get viciously chewed out by their peers. He saw students who had fought alongside him get threatened and bullied- regardless of their actual standing in the battle. Perhaps the worst of it was towards those among them who really had chosen the wrong side, and all Harry could see were kids who had lost their loved ones, their way of life, and even their dignity. He chewed the tip of his quill as he pondered this, and decided that the returning Slytherins were either the bravest people in the world, or they were suicidal. 

Upon this conclusion, Harry decided to give up on his homework for the night, and instead he took up his usual routine of undressing, washing and wishing his roomates goodnight. He cast a silencing charm on his bed and settled into another night of sleeplessness. As of late, Harry hadn’t been sleeping. Every time he’d close his eyes, the vivid memory of green sparks would flash at him, screams echoed in his head, and the smell of burning flesh would fill his nose. The first weeks back weren’t that bad, perhaps because he was so exhausted, but as time crept on the shining feeling of success began to fade, and cruel realities started to set in. He would wake up in a cold sweat, yell out into nothingness, and have panic attacks alone in the dead of night. At first he would wake Ron and they would sit together until morning, but he knew it was taking a toll on his friend. They were all suffering, they had all lost so many people, it was impossible to be there for one another all the time. Ron found his solace in Hermione, and Harry took to staying up with the help of a number of potions and the occasional book. 

Tonight though, instead of reading, he let his mind drift. He thought about the upcoming events he had to attend, and the functions he needed to prepare speeches for. He thought about the tests he had in his classes. He thought about what he was going to do for the winter hols, and how Christmas would feel without the people who were lost. He thought about how it was starting to get cold out, and how me might take a day to go and get some new clothes with Hermione. His thoughts started to drift to Hermione’s story about Malfoy at lunch today, and about his absence at both lunch and dinner, not that he cared to look, it was just a casual observation. Suddenly, he remembered that he had Malfoy’s wand tucked into his trunk from the last battle. He wondered what wand Malfoy was using without it, and made a mental note to himself to give it back before the holidays came. He then wondered about what possessed Malfoy to throw him the wand in those terrible final moments. Malfoy was a prick, a massive prick, but he had to be suffering just as much as everyone else was. Harry shook his head. His Malfoy obsession was over, it had to be over, it just wasn’t worth it to keep checking up on someone who considered him an enemy. Harry let his mind go quiet and he slipped into the fog of half-sleep he was accustomed to, deciding that the morning would be good for a swift fly around the grounds, before it got too cold to hold a broom. 

 

Draco had taken to lying catatonic on his bed for the last eighteen hours. He had cried, bashed his head against his wall, scratched at the ever-painful mark on his arm and screamed until his throat was sore and the pain outweighed his want to hurt himself. He didn’t want to sleep, he didn’t want to eat, he just wanted to stare up at the green and silver canopy that hovered over his head and hate himself in peace. Of course, light started to fill the room around six, and he heard his companions begin to prepare for breakfast and classes and normal things normal students do. He thought he was dying. Then he heard a knock on his banister. Blaise knew better than to open the curtains, so he spoke softly through them. “Hey mate, I’ll bring you back a scone from breakfast if you want, and there’s going to be a bit of a study group in here when we get back, so you can stay or go somewhere quiet, whatever you like,” Blaise sounded concerned, maybe even a bit scared, and he paused. “Draco? I hope you’re okay.” With that, Blaise walked away and Draco heard the door slam, blissful silence once again filling the air. 

He needed to pull himself together. He gingerly sat up, peeked out the window and saw the deep mist that was a telltale sign of the dropping temperature. He walked over to the mirror on the far side of the room and took in his own gaunt features. His eyes were puffy and red from tears, and his shoulders slumped forwards unceremoniously. Not wanting to get caught in the room when his roommates came back, Draco quickly pulled on some warm clothes, cast a warming charm on his cloak, and trudged out into the damp morning, deeply considering the option of drowning himself in the lake. 

 

Harry knew getting up at sunrise would be a good idea. A thick fog had settled over the grounds, and the air was a sharp cold, full of moisture and freedom. He whooped as he dipped and raced around the many towers, giggling to himself as a Ravenclaw whistled out the window. He felt a simultaneous guilt and relief with the sensation, glad for the distraction and the adrenaline, but also haunted by the laughter of his missing peers. He brushed against the wet grass on his next loop, dodging when objects suddenly burst out of the thick fog. He was unstoppable, that is until he was too busy admiring a close call with a bit of rubble to notice a person in his path, walking along the gravel on the edge of the lake. By the time he had turned back around, it was mere seconds before he was lying flat on his back, the figure he crashed into moaning next to him. He was certainly concussed, and it hurt to move his left leg, but he couldn’t decide if it was broken. A ragged gasp came from the figure, and he vaguely noticed them coughing blood onto the wet ground. Harry looked up to see a terrifying caricature of Draco Malfoy, his eyes sullen and purple, his head bleeding, and a deadly fire in his gaze. 

“What. The Fuck. Potter,” the ghost of Malfoy rasped. Harry was stunned, and he stuttered out an apology, which was quickly cut off. “You think you’re fucking special? Huh golden boy?” Malfoy seethed. “I’ll fuck you up, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you and your little mudblood friend.” He was on his knees now, scrambling around and rearing up for a punch. Harry was suddenly angry. What right did Malfoy have to be out here and accusing Harry of anything? What right did he have to call Hermione names? He caught the other boy’s fist right before it reached his face. 

“Why don’t you give that a better try Malfoy,” Harry said smugly, watching Malfoy’s face twist in anger. He tossed him off and stood, drawing his wand. 

“No,” Malfoy eyed the wand. “No, hit me.” Harry faltered. “Hit me.” Malfoy took two steps towards him, and they were nose to nose. “HIT ME.” Malfoy began shoving Harry back against a neighboring tree. He put an arm against Harry’s neck, and pinned him to the bark. “What, are you scared Potter?” At that, Harry delivered a swift right hook into Malfoy’s side. From there it was a blur. Malfoy flew at him, Harry retaliated. Malfoy started laughing, taunting, even as blood trickled down his mouth and out his nose. Harry was sure something had pierced the other boy’s lung when they’d crashed, or he’d at least bitten his tongue, but Malfoy was still ballistic, screaming at Harry and egging him on, telling him to finish it, to kill, to take it all away. At some point, the words actually got through, and Harry stopped his attack. Something was very, very wrong. Tears were pouring down both their faces, there was blood on their robes and hair. Harry had seen Malfoy like this before, but now it was bringing up the harsh memories, the burning, the green sparks, the screams. He lunged and pinned Malfoy to the ground, catching both his arms and holding them down. 

“Stop, stop it, shut up, stop,” Harry choked out. “Please Malfoy, please stop.” Malfoy was delirious, coughing, and bloody, but still he trudged on in his attempt to fight, muttering obscenities and pleading with Harry to kill him. Harry stopped talking and hugged Malfoy tightly, waiting for the begging to stop. Soon enough, it did, and Malfoy was reduced to crying against Harry’s neck, an occasional “please” slipping out through his sobs. Harry just held him closer, shushing and feeling his own hot tears run down his nose onto the ground by Malfoy’s ear. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, Harry putting his entire weight down on the other boy to stop his thrashing. As Malfoy quieted, he slipped his arms out from Harry’s grasp and buried them in Harry’s shirt. Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy and held tight, listening to the words “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, I’m sorry” rattle out of his supposed rival.

 

Draco was knocked on his ass for the second time in a day. His rib was broken, that he was sure of, and he wanted to kill whatever had decided to interrupt his plans of self loathing for the morning. Of course, it had to be Harry Fucking Potter. He only vaguely registered the sound of an apology before he was on his knees and yelling. Potter looked stunned, and hurt, and confused, but after a moment his eyes hardened. Draco tried to punch the twat in the nose but his wrist was caught in a vice-like grip, and that was the exact moment any sense of self preservation Draco had left flew right out of him. He felt himself being tossed off, and then he saw the flash of a wand. He still didn’t have anything more useful than a school loan wand, and by god, if he was going to die, he wanted it to hurt. He backed Potter into a tree and egged him on until he was greeted by a swift punch to his left ribs. He doubled over, and the rest was a blur. That is, until he was pinned to the ground, feeling Potter’s tears on his own cheeks. At first there was sound, and Draco wanted to scream until he went deaf, but then Potter stopped, and he was just being held, pinned, calmed. Being hurt had felt so good. Every little ache and burst of hot pain had given him bliss. He instantly missed it. He hated Potter for his pacifism. He loathed Potter for not just finishing him. He despised Potter for seeing him fragile and broken and scared. But something was off. He felt calmed by the presence above him, holding him steady and breathing in his ear. Draco pulled Harry down closer to him and cried onto him, and all Harry did was keep his strong arms around him. Draco felt awful. The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was his own voice apologizing and the smell of mist and treacle.

 

Harry had never been more grateful for Hagrid in his life. Harry had carried Malfoy the half mile, limping, to Hagrid’s hut, and was let in with no preamble. They sat in silence, and Harry glanced over at the still-unconscious Malfoy who was wrapped up on the worn green couch. 

“Mind tellin’ me what ‘appaned Arry?” Hagrid said as he placed a gentle hand on Harry’s head. 

“Just a fight, it’s nothing,” Harry replied. 

“If it’s nothin’ than why is he here and not gettin’ fixed up in the infirmary?” Harry shrugged and shook his head slightly. 

“I think I can manage a few healing spells. I don’t want Malfoy getting suspended for this.” Harry fingered the edge of the quilt that hung from his shoulders. “Could you maybe tell Minerva that you needed our help for something, so we could stay here a few days? I just feel like something is wrong.” Harry looked up at Hagrid with a plea in his eyes. Hagrid smiled sadly at him and shook his head. 

“I’ll tell ‘er I’m keepin ya till night, but then ya gotta fess up to ‘er. Maybe she can ‘elp.” Harry nodded back, and then he got up to help make some tea and biscuits.

 

A few hours later, maybe late afternoon, the majority of his and Malfoys injuries had been magicked away and healed with a variety of very strong potions Hagrid had hidden away in various cupboards. Harry just finished wiping the blood out of Malfoy’s hair when he saw the eyelashes of the other boy flutter. Harry shot up, got a cup of hot tea and came back with an apologetic smile on his lips. The glare that met his eyes was unwelcoming, but not altogether unusual. 

“Where am I?” Malfoy said whilst rubbing his eyes. “And why do I feel like I got run over by a raging hippogriff?” Harry handed him the tea. 

“I brought you to Hagrids,” he replied, sitting in front of the toast fire and watching the orange reflections dance about the small cozy room. 

“Why?” Malfoy sat up and sipped the tea, relaxing a bit. 

“I had a feeling you wanted to avoid people.” Harry stole a glimpse at the blond and noticed the shock that was immediately replaced by a mask of indifference. 

“Whatever Potter,” Malfoy sneered, “When can we go back?”

“After supper maybe. You could go anytime but we’ve been excused until dusk.” 

“I don’t need your charity Potty.”

“Then don’t take it.” Harry waved a sarcastic little goodbye, but Draco made no move to leave. Instead, he took another sip of his tea, then stood and shuffled over to the tray of biscuits that sat on an adjacent table. He grabbed three, then headed back to the couch and settled back into his blankets. Harry turned back to the fire. 

“Is there anything to read? I’m going to kill myself if I have to sit here in silence with you for more than five minutes.” Malfoy drawled out. 

“There’s exploding snap somewhere, and a broken chessboard.” Harry replied, not caring to look back while he spoke. 

“Fine. Chess please.” Malfoy, the utter ponce, nibbled on his shortbread like a prince. Harry didn’t know what to expect when the other boy woke up, but if all he would have to deal with were petty insults then it seemed bearable enough. 

 

Draco woke up thinking that the Hogwarts Express had dragged him behind it for at least three days. His head pounded, his stomach growled, and he was- no, he wasn’t bleeding. Why wasn’t he bleeding? He looked around the small room, which was covered in different woods and fabrics to the point that the hovel itself looked like a patchwork quilt. His eyes found a messy head of hair and he glared at the vile thing. It would have been so much easier if Potter had just killed him. But here they both were, alive in some destitute waste of a home, the smell of biscuits and pine drifting through the air. Potter came to stand in front of him, and Draco intensified his glare.   
“Where am I?” He said while rubbing his stinging eye, “And why do I feel like I got run over by a raging hippogriff?” Harry explained that he was in Hagrid’s hut, and Draco nearly gagged at the idea. He was just about ready to up and leave on his own until he caught a glimpse of students hanging around the grounds, studying and laughing. Going out there was not entirely what he wanted at the moment, especially if someone chose to ask about his bruised face. He didn’t need the trouble today, and he really didn’t need to get sent home for getting into a fistfight with the savior of the wizarding world. So instead of marching out the door, he marched over to the plate of shortbread and took three. Then, he sat back down and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to spend time with Potter and his stifling self righteousness for the next few hours.

 

In all, it wasn’t that bad. They played wizard chess for a few hours, made a soup from Hagrid’s garden vegetables, drank butterbeer together and finished off the shortbread. It was so uneventful and pleasant that Draco almost found himself enjoying it. Either he was knocked silly by Potter, or the fight they had was a massive cathartic release, because he found himself at ease in the quiet glowing room. 

At last it was time to go, Draco watched as Potter said goodbye to Hagrid and cast a variety of warming charms around them both. It started to sprinkle, and the fog from earlier was threatening to become a thunderstorm. Unfortunately, as soon as the pair entered the castle walls, the spell of the peaceful day was broken, and awkward silence reigned. Potter walked him all the way down to the Dungeons before saying a swift goodbye. Draco opened the door to the Slytherin Common Room, pausing when he heard his name.

“Malfoy?”

“What, scarface.” 

“What were you talking about, earlier, when we were fighting?” Potter searched Draco’s eyes in the dim grey light. 

“Nothing.” Fear built up inside of Draco, which was quickly swallowed by anger and disdain. He began to turn, but Harry caught his arm. His arm. The arm. It began to burn under Harry’s touch, and Draco grimaced. He tried to pull away but Potter held tight. “Let go of me you git.” Potter didn’t budge. 

“Not until you tell me.”

“Potter, leave me the fuck alone.” The candles in the castle flickered as a huge boom echoed overhead. The thunder had begun. Draco pulled himself out of Potter’s grip at last. “Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.” He spit onto Potter’s stupid glasses and turned on his heel, fleeing to the comfort of his bed once more.

 

Harry was shocked to see the blond at breakfast the next morning. The night before had been confusing to say the least, and he had gone back to his room covered in saliva and shame. The blonde was joking along with his Slytherin friends, and he looked much improved from the day before, the deep circles under his eyes were spelled away and not a single hair was out of place on his head. He knew something was wrong with Malfoy, and he needed to figure out what it was. Something compelled him to keep the other boy safe, and he was completely certain that Malfoy was not safe. Unfortunately, Hermione asked him about it. 

“Why are you looking at the Slytherin table like they’re all pouring pumpkin juice on their heads?” She nudged Harry with her shoulder to get his attention. Harry shrugged, and she continued. “Where were you yesterday anyways? Ron said you went flying, but you weren’t at any meals.” 

“I was at Hagrids, I’ve barely seen him in the last few months.” Harry nibbled on one of Ron’s scones. 

“Hey!” Ron batted at Harry and missed.

“That’s funny, that’s where Pansy Parkinson said Draco was when he didn’t show up to Potions.” She eyed Harry carefully, and watched as he squirmed a little in his seat. 

“Yeah well nothing happened. Ships passing in the night and all that.” Harry took a gulp of his tea and hoping Hermione would drop the subject when McGonagall walked up to the trio. 

“Harry,” she said, her voice authoritative and potentially terrifying, “please come see me after you finish your breakfast.” At that, she walked swiftly towards the door, her robes whirling around her. 

“Ships in the night, right?” Hermione said and rolled her eyes.

“Shite.” 

 

Harry’s worries nearly disappeared at the sight of the friendly tin of cookies that resided on McGonagall's desk. However, dread refilled his body as soon as he glanced up at McGonagall’s face, which looked friendly enough if not for her pursed lips and furrowed brow. 

“Please Mr. Potter, have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the plush maroon bench on the opposite side of the desk. “I assume you know why you are here.” 

Harry gave a slight nod. “Hagrid can never truly keep a secret…” Harry murmured, and he looked away from her burning gaze. Panic rushed through him as he remembered the reason for his secret-keeping. “You won’t suspend us, will you McGonagall?” 

Her eyes softened slightly, and curiosity stirred in them. “Of course not, when have you or Mr. Malfoy ever been suspended for your petty fights? As I understand, this isn’t the first time you two have tried to kill each other on Hogwarts grounds.” McGonagall took a sip of tea from a gold-rimmed china cup. “No, I think this is a call for something much more productive.” 

Harry relaxed a bit, but he still shifted uncomfortably with the mention of his previous tiffs with Malfoy. “What did you have in mind?” he asked politely, worried that the straight laced Headmistress would have them cleaning out Thestral stalls during the quidditch games. 

“I believe it would be pleasant for the eighth years to host a wellness meeting each week. The war has cost everyone dearly, and I believe a support group that promoted house unity would be beneficial to all.” McGonagall looked down her nose at Harry, who was gaping at the idea. “Is something the matter Mr. Potter?”

‘No! No, of course not Headmistress,” Harry rushed to cover his shock. 

“Good. Now, I expect you to spearhead this project, and I am making the first few meetings mandatory for all Eighth Year students. I also need at least one representative from each house to be a part of the management team. I trust you will all be adequate leaders for the school as a whole.” McGonagall’s eyes twinkled as she smiled at Harry. “Now you may go, and please, take a cookie Harry.” Harry obliged, and he shuffled out of the office and into the bustling halls. 

 

Draco was sitting on his bed, writing his essay for potions, when he heard the clamor outside his door. He sighed, decided that potions would have to wait until quiet was restored, and went to see what the matter was. He exited into the small room the returning Slytherins shared as a sort of Eighth Year common room, and was greeted by the sight of Blaise and Pansy in the midst of a heated game of wizarding chess. From the looks of it Pansy was winning, and a group of Slytherins of all ages were gathered around, rooting for their respective team and wrecking havoc. Draco sidled up to the table and plopped himself next to a pretty sixth year girl named Jillian. 

“Do you mind telling me why this whole ordeal is going on in here?” Draco asked her, gesturing to the large group of Slytherins packed into the tiny room. 

The girl blushed prettily, but did not look away from the game for more than a few seconds. “The passwords to the common rooms are down, and for some reason the Hufflepuffs have decided to come and chat with the beasts in the lake like it’s something they’ve never seen before.” She glanced at him again. “Sorry if we interrupted your beauty sleep.”

Draco scoffed, and decided not to mention the fact that the Hufflepuff’s probably hadn’t known that the Slytherin Common room had a large window with a view into the lake, and that Slytherin First Years were just as drawn to the alcoves with leather benches and seaweed scenery. Draco decided that sitting in the crowded room was a waste of his time, and so he got up and began to take a stroll down the Dungeon halls. 

 

He only made it a few feet before he was scared out of his skin by something invisible reaching out and grabbing his arm. 

“Merlin’s beard!! You’d think you would learn not to wear that gastly thing after sixth year you bloody idiot.” Draco managed to collect himself enough to sneer as a smiling face came out from under the invisibility cloak.

“Sorry,” Potter shrugged, “I didn’t know if you’d talk to me if you could see me coming.” Draco noted that this was probably correct, and even with the element of surprise he wasn’t sure he could listen to the Gryffindor without hexing him. 

“Well what do you want then.” Draco started quickly walking, making Potter nearly jog to keep up with him. 

“I was wondering, would you be at all interested in helping me with a special project?” 

“No.” Draco responded. 

“You, you don’t even know what I’m doing yet…”

“Still no Potter,” Draco said curtly, “I’m not interested in any scheming plans you have, and we aren’t friends or anything else for that matter. For all anyone knows, we haven’t spoken in months.” 

Potter’s laugh was not comforting. “About that…” He started, and Draco whipped around. 

“Who did you tell you absolute wanker.” Draco hoped that none of the dread he felt had seeped into his voice, but the worried look Potter returned was not reassuring. 

“Hagrid told McGonagall.” 

“Fuck me.” Draco felt his hands start to shake, and he turned back around to shield his face. He jumped when Potter touched his arm. If his father found out, he would be doomed. He would be sent home and murdered. He would have to go back and all he would be able to see it shame and torture and pain and and and-

“Malfoy, everything is fine, she let us off with a warning, it’s okay.” Potter was facing him again, with his hands on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s breath was coming short, and his ears were ringing. Potter gave him a little shake. “Malfoy, look at me, it’s okay, do you hear me?” Draco remembered who was talking to him and was instantly mortified. He sucked in a breath and shoved Potter off. 

“Okay, I’m fine, I’m okay,” he said as he started to walk again. Potter caught up and gave him a sideways glance. 

“Sure, right.” Potter reached up to fiddle with his glasses and run his hand through the nest he called hair. “So, about the project…”

“I’m not interested Scarface, and if I recall, I told you to stay away from me.” Draco turned a corner and could see the door to the kitchens coming up on his left. He made for the door, and before he opened it he turned and looked Potter in the eye. “Get into trouble on your own time, and stop wasting mine.” With that, he shoved open the door and closed it in the other boy’s face. 

 

When Draco got back to his room, he noticed his Eagle Owl, Helios, holding two scrolls for him. He opened the first one:

 

Mr. Malfoy,  
I am very pleased to hear that you are back in school by your own volition, and I would like to ask you for a favor. In the light of recent events it has become evident to me that there is a need for a support group in the school for all those who have suffered in the last year. I know that our Slytherin house has been gravely mistreated, and I would like you to be a leader and friend to those in your house. I am willing to restore your prefect status and help you with any issues you may encounter if you choose to take up this offer. From this Saturday on, there will be mandatory wellness meetings run by eighth years and various Hogwarts professors. Every house must have a representative, and I am inviting you to be a part of the talented team we are creating. If you are uninterested, let me know, but you will have denied a wonderful service to those who look up to you. 

Sincerely,   
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Draco was struck dumb for a moment, and he sat on his bed to contemplate the contents of the note. The last thing he wanted to do was be a martyr for the good of “house unity,” and this entire mess was the opposite of flying under the radar for. Even with these arguments though, he couldn’t help but realize that Slytherin did need a leader, and his pride was certainly boosted at the formal request from McGonagall. With thoughts swirling around in his head, he opened the second note. It was mostly blank, with a small bit of writing in the very center, accompanied by a slanted signature:

Scared Malfoy?,  
Xoxo, Potty

He sneered at the parchment and tucked the papers into his bedside table. Draco wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he did know one thing; for better or for worse, Harry Potter knew how to get under his skin.


	2. Magnets

Harry was bugging out. He had tapped his feet through charms and potions, avoided getting trapped in a room with Slughorn, who would inevitably talk his ear off about the bravery of his favorite student whenever he got the chance, and nearly collided with a gaggle of fourth year boys on his way to lunch. As he sat down, he saw Ginny approaching, and swiftly jumped into an explanation of the morning’s events with Ron and Hermione. 

“Hey, I’m not in trouble, McGonagall put me in in charge of a support group for the school, she says there needs to be a representative from each house,” he stuffed a piece of ham in his mouth, “wanna maybe ask Malfoy and Luna, I don’t really know what’s happening, Ginny’s coming, cover me.” With that Harry swiped a fork onto the ground and ducked under the table to grope for it, leaving Ron and Hermione with a look of shock etched on their faces. Within seconds, Ginny was upon them. 

“Harry? Can we talk?” She said, glancing down at the lump in the tablecloth where Harry was hiding. 

“Sorry, Ginny, haven’t got the time currently!” Harry winced at the sound of her sigh, and when he heard Hermione speak up he nearly sobbed with joy. 

“Ginny, have you seen Dean lately? He was looking rather fit out on the quidditch pitch yesterday, and I heard he wants to go professional,” she said, filling the empty air. Harry tugged on Ron’s robe, and was rewarded with another slice of ham. Hermione got up from her seat and lightly kicked Harry before grabbing Ginny’s arm and walking away, twittering about some more nonsense. Harry slid out from under the table and took a gulp of pumpkin juice. 

“Mate, why don’t you just break up already.” Ron said, giving him a disappointed look. Harry slumped at the thought.

“I love her Ron, I swear, I just don’t want to be around her right now. Not after the year of being apart, and being broken up for that time, and everything that happened.” Harry responded. “I don’t want to hurt her with all the stuff she doesn’t know about, and every time I’m with her she wants to plan and do things and talk and…”

“And you’re still sort of a wreck?” Ron cut him off, giving the boy a quick shove. “Come off it Harry, maybe if you tell her that, she’ll understand and even help you. Besides, none of it is your fault. And you’re being rude to her by denying her the truth.” Harry knew he was right, but the thought of losing another person from his life, someone he loved, caused his stomach to flip. 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll get on it, promise.” Harry sort of lied, grabbed another piece of ham, and scurried to collect his books and get to transfiguration. 

 

After class, Harry wandered the castle halls for a while, mulling over all the information he had. He couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy. With their past meetings, it had seemed like Sixth year all over again, and Harry was left with the vague feeling that something was very, very wrong. Of course, you could never know with Malfoy. With this thought echoing through his head, he decided to go and ask the Slytherin for help with his support group situation, before he lost his nerve. He threw the invisibility cloak around himself and turned the corner just in time to see Malfoy at the end of the hall. 

The whole ordeal hit him fast and without mercy, and instead of feeling as though he had control of the situation, he felt as though he’d been whipped around on a thestral for an hour. From the second he reached out and touched Malfoy’s arm till the door slammed in a face felt like it had passed in a matter of seconds, and the rush of the interaction had him buzzing. He didn’t know why, but he felt excited. This was a task, a purpose, and the last few months had felt like laziness compared with the last six years of his life. Harry turned on his heel and started running towards the owlery like his life depended on it. 

He flew past portraits that shouted after him, careened up the grand staircase, slid nearly ten feet on the frosty outdoor corridors and barely even paused to see the clouds swelling overhead with the promise of first snow.

 

The next day, Harry sat on Ron’s bed, ripping apart the wrapping on a chocolate frog and watching Neville tend to his little potted rosemary plant. Ron and Hermione were giggling about wizarding tattoos, and playfully disagreeing about the best flavor of Bott’s beans. For the first time in a while, Harry felt the simplicity of being safe and near his friends. The fire crackled low, and the blue light from the snow-covered day left the room feeling soft and peaceful. Harry threw a chocolate leg at Ron’s head.

“Oye, hey, rude.” Ron said, picking up the piece and nibbling it. 

“Was an accident?” Harry replied, handing another piece to Hermione and tossing the rest to Neville, who had given him a defeated look when it seemed as though Harry wasn’t going to give him any. Harry glanced around at his friends, “By the way, how are you guys?” He said, running a hand through his hair. His friends sat in silence a moment.

“I think I’m alright… How are you Harry?” Hermione answered carefully. 

“I’m fine, yeah. Just wondering about you all.” Harry shrugged, and he wished he still had candy to chew on. 

“I’m okay, thanks Harry.” Neville said, sitting down on the bed.

“Me too.” Ron nodded.

“Well, that’s good,” Harry glanced around, and took a deep breath. “I have a question.”

“Well shoot mate, you’ve already got us freaked out,” Ron smiled and nudged Harry’s foot with his own. 

“Great, will you help me with McGonagall’s support group?” A chorus of nods and sounds of affirmation came from the group. 

“McGonagall actually sent us all letters last night,” Hermione said, “and Luna owled me to say she got one too.” 

“Oh,” Harry hadn’t thought of that, but he was instantly pleased. With that, Hermione launched into brainstorming, offering up the DA coins as a way of communication and a day on the science behind psychology as her presentation. Neville jumped in and offered a class on taking care of plants, and Ron said that he could lead some noncommittal quidditch games for those who felt like a little exercise. Harry could barely contain the love for his friends that he felt as they all sat there, offering him their help with no retribution or preamble. In that moment, everything looked bright. 

 

The next day, Harry was knocked back down a peg. “CHANGING ROOMS??” Ron’s voice echoed in the hall of eighth years. McGonagall frowned at him and crossed her arms, giving them all an even look. 

“It is only for the last month of school before break, while you all work on the projects I’ve given you. I will not have dissent, and if you refuse to collaborate I may revoke your N.E.W.T. privileges.” The students all shifted uncomfortably. Their ranks would be mixed for the first time in years, and there was no telling who would be with who. They were all to go back to the guest tower and find the room assigned to them. The Slytherins are going to get murdered Harry thought idly. Besides that, their first support meeting was going to be on Monday, two days from then. They would have to meet up with the whole group before then and discuss the topics of the first meeting, and Harry was not nearly ready. 

Ron bumped his shoulder as the group slowly trickled out of the hall and into the stairwell that lead to their new rooms. “I guess I’ll see you around mate,” he mocked, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. Harry bumped him back.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy mate. We can just meet up in one room or the other.” Harry glanced around at their new common room. It was covered in color, tapestries for each house on each wall, tinted sconces that gave a sunrise-like glow to one side of the room and an earthly calm to the other, a long table with chalk boards on either side, and a massive window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. The space was beautiful, and a mural of mermaid diving in a sea of stars hung above them. Harry felt a little better with the change after seeing all the decor, and though it didn’t feel like home yet, he was pleased that it was fresh, almost like a new start. 

 

“Potter.” Draco said this mostly to himself, ignoring the groans of Blaise one door over. 

“You think that’s bad? I’m with the fucking weasel…” Blaise thumped his head against the doorframe. Draco looked forlornly at the door and tried to reason why this would be the room assignment. Maybe McGonagall wants me dead? Maybe it’s a joke! He thought, and he swung open the door. The room was absolutely lovely, with rich colors and silk sheets decorating the two beds, each on opposite ends of the room. On the farthest wall were two desks, separated by a small alcove with a bench for reading. Unlike the common room, this room felt much more like Hogwarts, with the scent of honey and a crackling fireplace in one corner creating a sense of peace and home. A knock came from the door on the right side of the room, near one of the two beds. Draco opened it to see Blaise’s face beaming at him. 

“Connecting doors! Pretty neat huh?” Blaise said, and gestured to the door on the left side of the room. “If your room is any like ours then that’s your bathroom.”  
“Then I suppose I’ll take that bed, as long as I get first choice,” Draco replied, and he flicked his wand to unpack his things into the trunk and desk. Blaise nodded and went back to his own room, and Draco sat on his lush bedspread until he heard the doorknob rattle. Seconds later, a mildly perturbed visage of the Golden Boy himself came into view. 

“Ah, guess it’s not a joke then.” He said.

“Nope.” Draco replied, keeping his eyes down and working towards the door to the hall. A knock came from the connecting door, and Potter jumped. After a pause, he slowly walked over, and upon opening the door a freckled and red-headed atrocity peaked in. 

“Connecting doors Harry!! Neat isn’t it?” Weasley exclaimed, and Potter snorted. Draco bristled at the notion of spending another minute with two idiots when a knock came from the hallway door. He looked up to an expectant stare from Potter, and after sighing and deciding that being close to the door out would be beneficial, Draco moved to open it. Standing in the hall was a gigantic cloud of frizzy brown hair, and next to it stood Pansy, looking bored.

“Hello Draco, is Harry- Oh!” The cloud of hair exclaimed, and it pushed past in to meet the two boys who stood smiling at her. 

“Have you ever seen such a friendly dust bunny?” Pansy said under her breath, making her exasperation obvious.

Draco laughed a little and moved to exit with her, but a swift cough stopped him. 

“Draco, would you mind staying a moment? We’re going to talk a little about the plans for the first meeting next week.” Granger looked at him poignantly. Draco opened his mouth to decline but before any sound came out, he was cut off.

“Hermione, can it not wait ’til the whole group is here?” Potter’s back was facing Draco, but he could see a tense line underneath the ratty T-Shirt the other boy was wearing. 

“No, I think it should happen now, besides, Pansy and I brought snacks.” She replied, and Draco shot a scandalized look at his raven-haired friend. Pansy shrugged in reply. 

“What kind of snacks?” Said Blaise, from somewhere in the depths of the adjoining room. 

“Pumpkin pasties and lavender lemonade,” Granger called back, and a sigh came from the ether of the other room. 

“Guess I’m in then,” Blaise’s face came in to view, and he dragged in one of the comforters from his room and laid it on the ground. Granger smiled, which was a strangely comforting look on her, and she sunk into one of the chairs by the fireplace. Pansy followed, putting her feet up and serving herself a cup of something sparkly and purple. Weasley pulled up a chair from the closest desk and sat beside Granger, and Blaise sat on the floor and proceeded to turn the fire a brilliant Slytherin green. 

Draco didn’t realize his mouth was open in shock until he felt a stare on him. When he looked up, Potter’s eyes captured his, and he set his jaw. Potter looked away, and Draco moved to sit on the arm of Pansy’s chair. Draco felt itchy and uncomfortable, but he was stuck, and by Salazar he was not going to lose this game of chicken to someone as entitled as Harry Fucking Potter.

 

Harry couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. They kept drifting between the Slytherins who were sitting betwixt his closest friends, being eerily quiet and resigned. His gaze kept catching on Malfoy, who would occasionally smirk at his friends, but was mostly staring into the fireplace. It had been maybe two hours since they started, and they had already crafted the schedule up until winter hols, but the Slytherins had remained nearly silent for the majority of that time. To Harry, they looked scared. The sun had set, and Parkinson’s head was resting on Malfoy’s thigh as Hermione moved on to discuss attendance and communication. 

Harry looked down at the chicken-scratch notes in front of him and frowned, trying to remember what day Hermione said they would work on mindfulness, when he suddenly heard Malfoy speak up. 

“I can play,” he said, and Hermione blinked at him.

“So you’ll lead it?” She probed, and he nodded back at her. “Perfect!” Ron yawned, and caught Harry’s attention with a wave, almost as if to give solidarity in the amount of attention that they weren’t paying to the conversation. 

“How about some booze?” Ron said, and Parkinson lifted her head, frowning slightly. 

“For the meetings?” Zambini asled, and Ron shook his head. 

“No, I mean for now. It’s Saturday, we’re all tense, and I’ve got leftover toadstool wine from my birthday.” Silence reigned in the room, and the Slytherins glanced at one another. “What?” Ron asked into the quietness. 

Zambini worried his hands together, and glanced at Malfoy, who shrugged. “Why?” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, it’s not like… I mean…” Zambini mumbled.

“We tried to kill you all.” Parkinson said. She was fully sitting up now, and her gaze was resting on the ground in front of her. Harry watched as Malfoy squeezed tenderly squeezed her arm. The air was suddenly too thick for Harry to breathe, and his head was pounding. The window in the alcove flew open with a bang, and Harry looked up to see everyone’s eyes on him. 

“Sorry, it was hot in here,” he said. He looked up and saw that Zambini’s mouth was in the shape of an O, and Parkinson’s eyes were wide and wet. Malfoy was looking at him with a bored expression, the only mark on his face was a slight draw between his brows. The light from the fire flicked over everyone, and Harry coughed. “Um, well, we uh, we aren’t afraid if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Draco scowled, and Harry backtracked, “I mean, we aren’t mad. I, I’d rather not hold it against you, at least.” It felt as though the room had let out a collective sigh, and Zambini gave a the smallest of smiles. 

Parkinson sniffed. “I think I’d rather like that drink now Weasley.” 

“Sure, and call me Ron,” the redhead said, and Hermione smiled at him with a small twinkle in her eye. 

 

Draco had never felt more tense in his life. Sitting with the Gryffindors was like walking on a razors edge, and the anxiety in the air was palpable. Granger droned on for hours, and he had only spoken up when she mentioned therapeutic music, and he offered his classical training for the activity. Mostly, Draco was preoccupied with his thoughts, and he considered the range of emotions the past week had inspired within him. He was feeling drained, physically and emotionally, and the only thing keeping him awake was the sheer drive to not be vulnerable in front of three people who held his life in their collective hands. 

Draco was shocked out of his introspective stupor by Weasley’s obscene question. As if they would all drink together, like acquaintances, or even friends. As if they could sit together and talk about their likes and dislikes, about normal kid things. He jumped when the window across the room flew open with a bang. Wandless magic, coming from the Hero himself, typical. Potter stumbled about for an excuse, to diffuse the tension. It didn’t work. Draco felt his whole body shake with the idea that THEY would be the ones to fear, when it was the stupid Gryffindors who were the only people to fear in this situation. The draft was cold, but Draco was flashing with anger. 

“I’d rather not hold it against you, at least,” Potter said, his green eyes shining in the light of the fire. Pansy relaxed against Draco’s body, and the protective hold he had on her arm relaxed. It seemed as though his friends had accepted the situation, and Draco resigned himself to following their lead, even if Potter’s words made him prickle with distaste.

Soon enough, Draco had a cup of something warm and alcoholic in his hand. Blaise was playing exploding snap against Granger, and Pansy had moved to sit with them on the comforter, leaving the chair to Draco. Weasley was trying and failing to help Granger cheat, and Potter sat in the other chair, watching them all quietly, much like Draco was. He took a swig of his drink and looked up to the clock on the wall, which informed him that it was just past nine. The warmth of the fairy wine filled Draco with ease, and he even smiled as Blaise was stung by a flying card. 

Pansy, clearly on her second cup of the potent wine, looked up at him. “Draco, come play, you were always the best at this,” she pouted, patting the comforter beside her. Draco looked up to see Potter’s eyes on him, and he quirked an eyebrow. 

Knowing full well that it was a setup, Draco delicately seated himself next to her. Potter followed, filling in the space on the other side of Granger. “Whoever loses drinks.” Pansy noted coyly, shuffling the cards. Blaise, who had burst out of the confines of his school uniform as soon as the first drink was poured, was lounging closest to the fire, and he laughed. 

“Potter, hate to say it, but you’re so screwed,” Blaise placed a knut on the footstool they were using as a table and smirked. “Don’t lose,” he said to Draco. Granger handed Weasley a knut too, and he placed it on the footstool along with Blaise’s contribution. 

“We’ll see,” Harry said, pulling his first two cards. 

 

Harry was right sloshed. He had never seen anyone with better reflexes than Malfoy, and he had lost to him more times than he would like to admit. He’d also made Malfoy drink though, and because of that the whole group was now graced with the presence of a very obnoxious and giggly Slytherin. It was nearly eleven now, and the group was starting to dissolve into fits of nervous laughter and yawns. Hermione was tucked under Ron’s arm, and she was still nursing her second cup, whereas the Slytherins were draped dramatically across the floor and chairs. Harry himself was sitting up against the side of a chair, and he found himself giving a play by play of when Gilderoy Lockhart released cornish pixies into the DADA classroom. 

After the story and jokes ended, a soft silence filled the air. Hermione blinked hard at the group, and sighed, “I suppose it’s time for bed.” A chorus of nonverbal affirmations sounded, but not a single person moved. Harry felt an arm hit his head, and he unthinkingly grasped it to place it back on the armrest of the chair. The owner of the arm sucked in a breath, but made no move to slap Harry’s hand away, and so Harry chalked it up to drunkeness and sleep deprivation. 

“Yeah, you’re right Mione,” he managed to say around the treacle his tongue had become. Harry pulled himself up, and flicked the lamps on, making the whole group groan. Within minutes, Ron and Zambini had pulled themselves out of their stupor and into their room, and the girls had wished them all a goodnight. After the flurry of goodbyes, Harry’s head was reeling, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. 

It was then that he remembered Malfoy was his roommate. The blond was sitting on his bed, staring calmly at the wall, a faint smile painted on his lips. Harry knew it was just the alcohol in his blood, but something about Malfoy looked soft and pretty, not at all like the angular boy he knew. 

Malfoy caught him staring, and he looked away. “Night,” Harry said, and he stepped out of his worn blue jeans. 

“Yeah it is,” Malfoy responded, still keeping that faint smile on his lips. Harry grinned back at him. 

“No I mean, goodnight,” he clarified, and he yanked on a pair of snitch-covered pajama pants that Ron had given him. 

“Oh,” Malfoy said, and Harry looked away as the other boy started to undress. “Yes, goodnight.” Harry stumbled over to the window and shut it, before flicking off the lights with a swish of his wand. He listened as Malfoy closed the curtains around his bed, and with that Harry collapsed onto his own down mattress and proceeded to sleep for the first time in weeks.


	3. Nightmare Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for the delay, here's a quick little chapter to quench your angsty needs. There will be more tomorrow, I'm excited to get into the juice bits ;>

Draco woke up to screaming. His head was pounding and he was in a room he didn’t recognize. The bed across from him was moving, almost vibrating and the yelling that was coming from it sounded like someone was dying. Draco scrambled out of bed, grasping around in the dark for purchase on the walls. As he reached the door to the hall, the glass from the window shattered and flew across the room, stinging his bare arms and cutting his feet. When he finally reached the bed, he threw open the curtains and saw Harry, thrashing and yelling, with blood smeared on his pillow. 

“Fuck, holy shit,” Draco said, and he cast a Lumos. Thinking fast, he placed his wand on the side table and crawled onto the bed, straddling Potter and holding his fists down. “Potter, Potter wake up!” There was a significant cloud of magic around them both, and it seeped into the cuts on Draco’s arms, healing them. “HARRY!” He yelled, and finally the other boy’s eyes flickered open. The magic shield collapsed around them, and Potter sat up. 

“What? Ron? Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing his hands against his eyes. 

Draco shot away from the bed. “It’s me.” 

“Wha-” Anger seeped into Potter’s voice, but he cut himself short as realization struck him. “Oh.”

Draco watched the other boy take a few shaky breaths in the dim light, then he cleared a path for himself through the broken glass. “Clean up your mess, and next time, cast a silencing charm if you insist on having nightmares.” With that, he closed the curtains of his bed and tried to ignore the telltale sounds of crying from the other side of the room, as well as the faint shimmer of Potter’s magic that still slid against his skin.

 

In Harry’s dream, there had been hordes of faceless people fighting him. They would turn into goop and slosh into his mouth and eyes, leaving death and darkness in their wake. They clung to his clothes, leaving dark inky stains and smearing thick blood. Harry wasn’t scared until he looked into the white masks the fighters wore. There he saw his friends and loved ones, twisting in agony. He saw headlines that told the world he was crazy, that he was a criminal. He saw rabid dogs and knives shining with blood, and he saw children crying, their knees scraped and hands grasping. He called out to them, he told them ‘no, stop, I can help,’ but he couldn’t, and each time he opened his mouth he was drowning in more of the darkness. 

“HARRY!!!” He heard, and he saw Malfoy’s face in the masks, his face looking cruel and disgusted, and then his face looking scared, worried, tears rolling down his cheeks. Harry reached out his hand to the image and screamed as it faded away into the chaos of his nightmare. Then, a blast of green light filled his vision, and he woke up. 

“Ron?” He yelled to the shaded figure on top of him. Seconds passed and the heavy weight of tension and fear began to settle into Harry’s stomach, already numbing the emotions the nightmare had stirred within him.

“It’s me.” He heard, and panic started to fill his body. The hands that were holding his own slid away and the figure, Malfoy, seamlessly rolled out of the bed. Magic twinkled in a circle around him, like a popped bubble. 

“Wha-” Harry’s brain did a backflip trying to figure out the circumstances that lead Malfoy to be the one holding him against his bed in the dead of night. “Oh.” 

The blurry outline of Malfoy gingerly took up his want and waved it, which created the sound of glass knocking together. Harry shoved on his glasses and surveyed the mess his outburst had created, and he barely heard the sounds of Malfoy haranguing him. 

Harry sat in silence until a particularly strong gust of wind brought a slurry of snow through the shattered window. Then, he picked up his wand and cast a quiet reparo, which caused the little shards to twinkle back into place. With that, Harry wrapped himself in his comforter and let his tears fall like rain onto his pillow.


	4. Broken

The next morning, Harry awoke to the sound of Malfoy slamming the door behind him. His head was pounding with dehydration and last night’s alcohol was turning his stomach, but he dragged himself out of bed anyways, determined to find his friends and seek solace in their company. He didn’t have to look hard either, for as soon as his feet touched the ground, a sleepy-eyed Ron barged into the room. 

“Hiya Harry,” he said, pulling out a letter from underneath the mountain of blankets that were wrapped around his shoulders. “This is from Ginny, she left it with my things yesterday.” Harry took the letter and placed it carefully on his nightstand. 

“Thanks, any idea what it says?” He said, dragging himself over to the flat chest that stood by the foot of his bed and shuffled through the jumbled mess of clothing. Ron shrugged back at him. 

“If I had to guess? Nothin’ good.” With that, Ron swished back into his own room, and Harry could hear him give a soft farewell to his Slytherin roommate.

Harry pulled on his clothes as quickly as he could, and ripped open the letter. 

Harry,  
I hope the fact that I sent Ron with a letter doesn’t scare you too much. I was wondering if I could talk to you today after breakfast, and maybe we could discuss a few things regarding our relationship. I’ll wait for you by the lake until 11.  
Love,  
Ginny

Checking the time, Harry found it was ten minutes till, and with a muttered curse, he ran from the room. 

 

Draco’s chest had been sore all morning. He wondered to himself if he was getting sick, or if the wine last night had hurt him in some way, but even though he took a pepperup in his pumpkin juice at breakfast, the pain remained. It felt funny, like there was a string attached to his ribs, and it pulled at them every time he took a breath. Of course, it was nothing more than a minor nuisance, but he was extremely aware of it. He was also aware of an inexplicable craving for treacle and hot peppermint tea, but he prescribed that to the fact that it was softly snowing outside.

 

Harry careened down the hallways and slammed open the doors to the courtyard, hoping that he didn’t miss Ginny. The cold air hit his face like a splash of water, and he let out a breath of relief at the sight of stark red hair against the dark grey lake. She was sitting, a book in hand, and her warming charm had melted the snow around her, creating a perfect dark ring. As he walked closer, Harry noticed that she must have been running, for her hair was cinched back and tangled by the wind. After a moment, he carefully sat down by her. 

“Hi,” she said, and she gently marked her place and put her book down next to her. 

“Hey,” he replied, settling in the cold snow next to her. She didn’t look at him, and she didn’t offer to let him into her bubble of warmth. A moment of silence passed as she attempted to gather herself. 

“I’ve been thinking,” she started, “that you’re too scared to tell me how you feel.” Her soft hair held tiny snowflakes within it, and it provided a striking contrast that Harry let himself get lost in. Then, her eyes met his and held them, shocking him out of his revery. 

“You’re right,” he replied, looking down at the dark water of the lake. She sighed, and a puff of condensation danced through the air. Harry cleared his throat, then continued, “I just don’t feel like we can go around acting the same as we did before everything happened.”

“I know,” Ginny said.

“It’s not you, I promise, and I love you,” Harry reached for her hand, “I just don’t feel right about being happy yet… does that make sense?” 

“Yeah, yeah I know Harry.” Ginny grasped his hand tightly, and he could feel the warmth of her charm leak into him. “I don’t know who I am without the war, and I barely saw you at all, but it hurt more than anything to have you avoid me.” 

“I’m sorry Gin,” Harry said, “I don’t know anything either.” Ginny nodded at him, and then leaned to kiss his cheek. 

“Okay. Well, in that case, let’s take a break from avoiding each other and be friends again, yeah?” Harry looked out, choked down unnecessary tears and nodded back at her. With that, Ginny gave his hand a final tight squeeze, and walked away from him, back into the warmth of the castle. Harry shivered at the loss of her, then looked out at the black and white horizon until his vision was blurred by the slurries of snow and the tears that has frozen to his glasses. 

In the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy tightened his sweater around himself, and poured another cup of tea. 'Unusually chilly', he thought. 'Strange...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tomorrow," lol sorry I moved to Spain for 3 months and didn't write a darn word, but I'm back!! And inspired! Enjoy!


	5. Help

“Alright everyone,” Hermione stood at the front of the Charms classroom, holding her chin up piously and waiting for quiet. There were around forty students who had arrived to the first meeting of Wellness and Mending, the unofficial title for the support group McGonagall had inspired. Draco sat back in his chair, situated near the back of the classroom, and up against the wall. From here, he could see that only around eight students were from Slytherin, and that was including himself, Pansy and Blaise. “Thank you! Now, as it is time to get started, it is my pleasure to introduce our wonderful mental health specialist and advisor to this class, Professor Carmela Rosalie.” 

A lovely woman with dark, curly hair walked from the back of the classroom to the front, and as she passed Draco, he smelled clove, cinnamon and rose hips. She had a charming yet quiet disposition, and her inky hair made a stark contrast against the yellow wrap she wore. Draco watched as the majority of Hufflepuffs sat up straighter in their chairs when she passed. 

“Thank you Hermione,” Ms. Rosalie said, with a voice like warm honey. “I am so pleased that I can be here to help you learn and grow from your experiences. I am a graduate of Uagadou School of Magic, and I have been an educator for ten years. Though your peers will be leading the courses here, I hope that you will all find that I can be an excellent listener and helper, and I hope to get to know you all in time.” With that, Ms. Rosalie took her leave, and walked back to her seat in the back of the class. Hermione dismissed everyone, letting them know that the next meeting would be the next week, and reminding everyone to grab their communications coin on the way out. 

“Leadership, we are all staying to solidify our plans for the coming weeks, so don’t jet quite yet.” Hermione said, taking a seat on the ground level of the classroom. Draco stood, and Pansy plopped herself into the seat next to Hermione, leaving him to sit across the circle. The only open seat was, of course, next to Potter, who looked like he had been up all night. Draco had barely had time to process anything that had happened since last night, but he did register that the youngest Weasley was sitting next to her brother, on the opposite side of the group than Potter. It seemed as though Potter had a rough couple of days too, and Draco snorted to himself. 

Ms. Rosalie hovered at the edge of the circle, and Hermione nodded towards her. “Thank you for this Carmela, we’re really glad someone with experience could be our advisor.” Ms. Rosalie took a seat with the group and smiled, which made relaxation pool in the center of the room, and it eased everyone to their bones. 

“I’m just glad to be here.” She replied. Draco could have sworn that the woman’s eyes were twinkling as she scanned the small gathering. “Please, if any of you feel like you might need anything, I urge you to come and talk to me. What you went through is very unique, and I can’t even begin to imagine the stress it has caused you. I would like to be a safe space for any of your needs. I also want you to be aware that what you’re doing will take a lot of emotional energy sometimes, and that’s okay. Take breaks and feel free to stay in if you aren’t feeling up to the task.” The group hummed in confirmation, and Potter cleared his throat. 

“So, next week Ms. Rosalie will be going over some of the ways trauma can manifest, and coping skills that the students can use. Then, we will have painting with Luna and me, sports with Ginny and Ron, journaling led by Hermione and Pansy and music with Draco and Blaise. The last weekend we’re going to have a wellness party and some reminders for the Holidays, and then we’ll be home free until spring semester. Sound good?” The group nodded, and Draco felt his heart in his ears. ‘Six weeks,’ he thought to himself, ‘only six weeks.” 

With their brief get-together finished, the students filtered out of the room. Draco linked arms with Pansy and was halfway back to their dorms when she suddenly stopped. 

“Oh shoot!” She exclaimed, “Draco, will you be a dear and go get my robe? I left it and I have some work in the greenhouses in thirty minutes and I need to get my supplies.” Pansy gave him the biggest puppy eyes he had seen since she had asked him to get her a silk cashmere scarf to wave during quidditch matches. Draco gave her a levelled look back, too caught up in emotions and exhaustion from the night before to be tempted into turning in a direction that was opposite of his rooms. Nonetheless, he found himself cursing and turning back towards the charms classroom, waving off the thank yous that followed after him. 

On his lonely trek back, Draco stopped for a minute to glance out the third-story windows at the flurries of snow that were brushing against the castle walls. With the steady stream of activities, he hadn’t allowed himself to be tired, but now he slumped against the cool glass and closed his eyes. With a flash, Draco felt anxiety flood through him, and he gasped. When he opened his eyes, the feeling was gone, but it left his palms sweaty and his heart racing. He shook out the feeling, hard, and glanced around the hallway to see if anyone was nearby. The corridor was shockingly empty, and Draco couldn’t fathom why he had just felt like the world wash crushing him. Without even thinking, Draco continued walking, and before he knew it he was standing in front of the charms classroom door, and he pushed it open.

The door opened to reveal Harry Potter. He was sitting in a cool pool of light, his arms tightly crossed and his eyes were glossy. He had taken his glasses off, and there were lines of tension pulling at his face. He looked awful, but he reminded Draco of scraped knuckles and pomegranate juice. For a brief instant, Potter’s face was open and vulnerable and tired, with shades of blue and deep reds bouncing off him and crystalizing like ice, and Draco’s breath caught in his throat. It took more than a few seconds for Draco to realize that Harry wasn’t alone, and when he broke eye contact with Potter, the whole word dimmed and blurred. 

 

Harry lagged behind after the meeting. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, taking a moment for himself to breath in the empty room. Within moments though, he became aware that he was not alone. Ms. Rosalie was puttering around the room, tidying feathers and inkwells, cleaning chalk off of the blackboard and adding a dash of sunlight with her presence. 

“Sorry, Ms. Rosalie, do you need any help?” He said, moving to get up.

“Oh, no dear, please sit. You’ve had a long enough day. And call me Carmela.” She said and smiled. Harry nodded at her, and she took a hard look at him. Something in her face softened, and though Harry would usually put up a guard around strangers, his eyes were tired and his thoughts were heavy, so he let her look at him as though he was just a person, and not the savior of the wizarding world. She sat next to him and took a piece of paper from her bag, and he watched as she started to idly doodle with a sparkly gold gel pen. 

After a moment of silence, Harry cleared his throat. 

“Thank you again for all your help Ms.- Carmela.” He said, watching as she drew a lotus on her paper. It wasn’t a particularly good drawing, but he enjoyed the shimmer of the pen. 

“Oh, no, thank you for the reason to come. I came to Hogwarts once while I was in school, for the Triwizard, and it was lovely. Especially this time of year.” She said. Wordlessly, Ms. Rosalie got out a blue gel pen and handed it to Harry, along with a scrap of paper. He took it and began to doodle with her, and he let go of the tension he was holding in his shoulders and jaw. “Are you doing alright today Harry?” The question hit him like a shot in the chest, and his pen stopped. The air felt heavy in his mouth. 

“I’m not sure.” He said. The snow outside made the room go dark, and Harry’s hand began to shake. “I think I just,” he swallowed hard, not able to finish the sentence. His whole body felt like it was hot and icy all at once. Emotions he had pushed under the surface were combining with the exhaustion of pretending to be alright, and it was terrifying. Harry thought something might be wrong with him, like he was detached from his brain and floating a million miles away. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could close his eyes and wake up as someone else. 

He was pulled back down to earth by the door opening, and for the millionth time today, he felt as though he had been shot. Steely grey eyes held his, and he felt as though he has been cemented in place. Without his glasses, the only things he could really see was the shadow of a figure against the bright gold light from the hallway and a pair of perfect grey eyes. Ms. Rosalie cleared her throat, and her honeysuckle voice made the world move again. 

“Do you need something, Mr. Malfoy?” She asked, and Harry pulled all of his emotions back down into whatever hole he had been hiding them in. He shoved his glasses back on, and patiently turned away from the door, waiting until the footsteps stopped and the door closed behind Malfoy. Harry sighed once he was gone, and looked Ms. Rosalie in the eyes.

“I’m alright,” he shrugged again. “Sometimes I just feel like there’s no reason for me anymore.” Ms. Rosalie nodded to herself, her dark curls bouncing along with the movement. 

“I can understand that feeling. But I bet there are plenty of people who would disagree with you.” Harry smiled, knowing that she was right. If he ever voiced this fear to his friends, he knew that they would give him a few strong words about it, and for the first time that day, he felt a little better.

“Thanks Carmela,” he said, and he shouldered his bag. “I’ll be alright.” The world was still a somewhat wobbly, but he could feel the ground under his feet again, and the air wasn’t quite so hard to breathe anymore. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and she patted his shoulder. “Feel free to talk to me anytime.” With a nod and a small smile, Harry left the classroom and started walking down the hall. 

He hadn’t made it ten steps before Malfoy stepped out from around the corner. ‘Great.’ He thought. ‘Perfect.’ Before he had built up the energy to stop himself, he spoke:

“What the Hell is wrong with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are a little shorter than they were in the beginning, but it's easier to post in smaller chunks, I hope you don't mind!!


	6. Wrench

Draco couldn’t go back to his room. He walked down the corridor three separate times before he had to turn back. He felt sick every time he tried, and he told himself that it was because he wanted to know what had made the sickening savior cry. He held onto that shred of logic while waiting around the corner, but when he heard the door close he was nearly shaking. Something felt wrong, as there was no reason for him to be waiting there, no reason that the dust in the corridor was becoming more like cement every time he tried to leave. He rounded the corner and he tried to make his face as impassive as possible. 

“What the Hell is wrong with you?” 

Draco tried to shrug off the question, but years of training had his anger boiling at the drop of a hat. Potter rolled his eyes and picked up his pace, and Draco shuffled along behind him. Potter looked upset and scared, and Draco almost felt bad about waiting behind. It didn’t take long for that feeling to disappear though, and it was replaced by a violent annoyance. Suddenly, Potter stopped. 

“Do you feel better now?” Potter seethed, and Draco felt the anger- no- pain, roll off of the other boy. 

“What? I-” He started, and then he cursed himself. He couldn’t let Potter see him vulnerable, it just wasn’t done. With a calculated glare, Draco drew himself up and sneered, “Yeah, actually. It’s nice to see that the Golden Boy got a little tarnished too.” Draco watched as Potter’s face went through a series of expressions, rage and embarrassment flowed into a startling display of… nothing. Harry Potter did not rise to meet his challenge, and instead he stood in the hallway, green eyes shining, looking pitiful and more than a little broken. Draco looked down, suddenly self-conscious about his remark. 

“Yeah,” Potter responded, “guess we can’t all be perfect.” He snorted, and then he turned and kept walking. Draco was reeling, confused by the honesty and the pain in the eyes of his peer. Even worse was the uncomfortable pulling in his chest that increased with every step Potter took away from him. 

“Wait!” He said, taking long steps to where Potter was and grabbing his arm. An uncomfortable electric shock went up his arm with the contact, but he pushed the feeling to the background. Potter looked up at him, and Draco’s breath caught in his lungs for a brief moment. ‘When did he get so..’ He cut off the train of thought before it became something dangerous, and he cleared his throat. “Are you, uh, are you okay?” He said, silently cursing his stutter for coming out at such an inconvenient time. Potter’s eyes widened and he looked Draco up and down. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, ha, I don’t really know. Are you ill?” Potter was looking directly at him, and Draco couldn’t fathom what that meant. 

“No I, I don’t think I’m ill.” Draco said, and then he pulled away. Being looked at by Potter was like having someone rip off a bandaid. Draco was convinced that Potter was the only one who could get under his skin like that, and see him for what he really was. It made shame crawl over him and caused his stomach to turn. ‘Maybe I AM ill’ he thought. When he met Potter’s gaze again, the other boy shifted uneasily and glanced away. “Alright,” Draco started walking again, and he hoped that the movement would dispel any residual awkwardness. 

They walked back to their room in silence. At some points, Draco tried to peel away and go a different direction, but every time he tried, he felt compelled to continue walking with Potter instead. It was frustrating, and odd, but he felt that if he truly needed to leave he would be able to, so he tried to ignore it. ‘Perhaps,’ he thought, ‘perhaps this is what guilt feels like.’

 

“Are you okay?” 

The words echoed in Harry’s head and he felt betrayed. Of course he wasn’t okay. Nothing was ever going to be fucking okay again. He was useless, a chewed piece of gum, the last sliver of soap from the bar, a sock with too many holes in it to be considered a sock anymore. It was almost funny how fast his mood had spiraled back down into a place of despair, and he bit back his panicked laughter. He caught Malfoy’s gaze and saw a mixture of raw emotion and openness that was confusing and horrible. ‘Why is he looking at me like that?’ flashed through his head, and he felt a sting in his arm where Malfoy was touching him. 

“I’m fine. Are you ill?” Harry hoped he sounded mean and unconcerned, but something in him was permanently rattled. Draco stepped back, and Harry felt the need to step towards him, console him, hug- no, no that’s crazy. He shook his head and set his shoulders, then he started on the walk back to his room, painfully aware of Malfoy’s presence one step behind him. 

 

When they got back to their room, Harry went straight into his bed and pulled the curtains shut around him. He was tired. So, so tired. Tired enough to lean back against his headboard, cast a warming charm and drift off to sleep. It caught up to him all too fast, and before he could stop himself, he was dropped into the darkness of his subconscious 

 

In his dream, Harry was sitting on the ground. The sky was a threatening swirl of reds and purples, and a sickening green light threaded itself through the clouds. He was mesmerized by it, but the longer he stared, the more nauseous he began to feel. The display would have been beautiful, if not for the fact that he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from it, and it was causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. The dizziness threatened to take him over, and he frantically tried to look away, or even throw up, but he couldn’t. He felt like he was being drained, and his shoulders were starting to hurt from looking up. 

“It would be so nice to lay down,” he said to himself, and so he did. At this new perspective, the lights were even more dazzling, and he could feel them pressing against his skin and eyes. He was being caressed, lured by them. Something stirred in him, in places he hadn’t felt in over a year. There was longing, and disgust, and pleasure, all pulling him deeper into the fray and sending him on an emotional roller coaster. He felt raw, like an exposed wire, and with every move of the swirling lights his head would spin and his heart rate would jump, but every time he thought he felt himself fall under the waves of forced pleasure, fear would choke him up and bring him back to the beginning of the cycle. He was keening now, begging for the light to take him and then drop him into its center, to finally let him relax and float away. He wanted to touch himself, but he was restrained by the light, and so he flexed against his bonds and whined. It went on for forever, the light would trace his lips and kiss his neck, then it would give his sides and chest feather-light touches. It would travel lower, wrapping itself around him, and right as he felt the tidal wave begin to crest, it would stop, and his free will would be dragged out of him with each ragged breath. The dirt he was laying on felt like silk sheets, and the light invaded his nose and mouth, making him gag and shake. 

It was choking him. He snapped out of his revery within seconds, and with newfound willpower, he turned his head away from the blinding swirls and shut his eyes against them. The tendrils retreated, perhaps aware that their prey was no longer interested, and Harry opened his eyes a bit to find himself looking at a foot, rotting and half buried in the dirt. 

He sat up, pointedly ignoring the light that was illuminating the sky, and he saw a leg that descended into the ground. Panic filled him, and his chest tightened with the urge to cry out. Too many people were dead, and it was his fault. 

He scrambled to his knees and started to back away from the body, but before he had moved too far, he heard a shrill scream fill his ears. 

“MY BOY!!!” The voice called out. He could hear the desperation in the sound, like the yelping of a trapped animal. The sadness of it brought tears to his eyes, and he forced himself to walk back towards the body. A hand rested on the sludge-like ground, and in its whitened grasp there lay three splendid white daffodils, the stems of which were gnarled and broken. The hand shuddered, and Harry realized that they were still alive, breathing and struggling to the surface. He leaned over and started to dig around the hand, pulling at the dirt until it piled high next to him. It seemed as if there was always more dirt filling the spaces he created, and he was starting to get tired. The light was still calling to him, filling his head with whispers and promised. With a ragged gasp, Harry doubled down, and finally a face began to rise through the mud. The eyes of the person were gone, and in their place was more of the light, bright and white and cold. The mouth of the person was filled with debris and grime, and Harry drove his hand in to clean out the pipeway. Seconds before he brought his mouth down to breathe air into the person’s lungs, Harry recognized them. 

Blonde hair was stained black with mud, but the sharp angles and accusing eyes were unforgettable. Harry was holding Draco Malfoy. Harry had saved him, again. Harry was going to give him mouth to mouth. Harry was touching him. Bile filled his throat again, and he spit, his pulse rushing through his ears. He put his mouth on Malfoy’s and then he was filled with lightning. It scorched his hair and clothes, it filled his lungs with fire, and when he opened his eyes again, he was all red light and magic, bouncing off itself and spiraling out of control. Malfoy was gone too, and in his place was a soft, pulsing white-blue strand, crackling with electricity. The sickly green light from the sky was closing in around them both, and the harder Harry tried to push against it, the more it closed in around him, pushing him towards Malfoy’s magic. He watched as the green light threaded them together, sending chills through his core and making him gasp at the gentle shocks that came from touching something with so much untapped power. It gave him a heady, drunk feeling, and Harry couldn’t fight anymore. He was tired, he hadn’t slept, and he didn’t know why he should fight anyways. He closed his eyes against the confusing lights, and he heard an unmistakable voice laugh and sing into his ears. 

“The fish will drown, the flowers will wilt and all will be undone. When the savior cannot save himself, who’s game will be won? You cannot hide from your own dreams, nor can you up and run. So my dear, don’t you dare sleep! Oh this will be fun.” 

With Voldemort’s voice still ringing in the darkness, Harry let out a blood-curdling scream, and he felt his magical core tangle into the light that surrounded him, burning and seizing. Then with a crash akin to that of a firework blowing up in his face, Harry was forced into a sickened, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for sticking around!! I'm currently looking for some people to beta the rest of this fic, as I'm starting to come into some issues with the timeline and making everything make sense. If you're interested, you can send me a direct message on my tumblr (@lackluster-nihilist). I would really appreciate the help and love!!
> 
> Enjoy!


	7. Linked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, quick warning to all, this chapter is a wee bit scary. For anyone who would be triggered by ideas of sexual horror and abuse, you might want to check in with yourself before you keep reading.

Draco had finished the rest of his day without incident. He cast a silencing charm over the snoring Potter, finished his potions essay, shared a chat with Blaise until Weasley got back from Merlin knows where, had a simple dinner with Pansy and Astoria, made plans for the next day’s trip to Hogsmeade and even took a moment to help a young Slytherin he found wandering around the maze-like passageways of the dungeons. When he got back to his room, Potter was still sleeping, and the moon was just rising over the icy lake. Draco sighed, and though he felt accomplished in his activities, he couldn’t help but feel nagging dread and panic every time he took a moment of respite. 

He fixed himself a cup of black tea and settled into the quiet task of watching the night sky. It felt like a trial to even be awake these days, and though he was not tired, he felt that if he were to be asked to do anything in that moment, he wouldn’t be able to. He wished that he could feel any sort of passion, but the exhaustion won out, and all he could do was sit idly and uncomfortably. 

For a moment, Draco considered taking a nice long bath, and letting himself relax, but that would require movement and a towel and energy, none of which he felt inclined to muster up. He thought of dragging a novel out of his trunk and letting his hands wander, but that too felt tiring and, as it had felt for the last few years, out of place. So he sat, his not-quite-sadness making the cold air hard and unsatisfying to breathe. With a shallow wave of his hand, he beckoned a small pot of sugar to pour itself into his tea. Unfortunately, the pot stayed exactly as it was, and he let out a huff of annoyance. Then, he lifted his wand and tried for a second time. Still, the sugar did not budge from its perch. ‘Damn loaner wands,’ Draco thought, cursing the useless stick he was wielding. He tried once more, and when the magic did not flow, Draco began a hysterical descent into despair. ‘Great, now I’m a squib,’ he thought, and he threw the wand to the ground. 

Or at least he tried to, but as he wound up his arm and released, a massive red blast of electricity sparked out of his hand and sent him flying into the fireplace, and his head cracked against the intricate stonework. When he opened his eyes, his vision was swimming with lights, and he could barely make out the outline of Potter’s bed. He thought for a moment that mud was pouring out of it and onto the floor of their room, but he blinked a few times, and everything was back to normal. Thinking it a cruel trick that Potter was playing on him, Draco stumbled over to the other boy’s bed and threw open the curtains. Potter was contorted and tense, his eyes whipping wildly back and forth in such a disturbing way that Draco had to tear his eyes away. All of the sudden, Draco was horribly sick, and he leaned over to hurl. He fell to his knees, dragging himself through the mess, and not knowing what else to do, he crawled into the bed to lie down and be still. The nightmarish visage of Harry Potter gurgled and thrashed, and Draco prayed to every god he knew that he would survive this night. With every blink, he saw magic spiral around him and he felt his core getting dragged out of his body. Weakly, he tried to grasp up at it, but every move jolted his stomach and sent him back with scorching pain. In the midst of his struggle, he felt a hand grab at him and he let the sturdy calloused fingers dig into his arm while he pushed himself to stay awake and alive. In the air above him, he saw the coiling body of the dark mark slither down to him. It probed at his mouth, and he sealed his lips tightly closed, but another wave of nausea caused him to spit out the disgusting sludge of dirt and stomach acid that filled his mouth. The snake rammed itself down his throat and he clung to the sheets, terrified and violated. The skull loomed closer to him, filling his vision, and it laughed. 

“You Will Always Be My Pawn.” Draco’s eyes went wide and memories of the cruciatus curse filled every cell of his body. All of the moments that had died with Voldemort came rushing back, and Draco was thrown into the depths of it. He saw the blinding light of an Avada Kedavra, the look of ecstasy on the Dark Lord’s face while he charmed women and men to pleasure him and then take their own lives while he watched. He saw the wicked masks and he felt the terrifying feeling of not being safe in his own home. He remembered looking through the keyholes of locked doors, never knowing if he was going to be asked to do the unthinkable. He felt his father’s hand on the back of his neck, and he heard the pants of something horrible lurking in the shadows. 

And then, hands were pulling the snake out of his mouth, and lips were covering his, and he could finally breathe again. Draco tangled his hands into Potter’s shirt and felt his magic settle around them, protecting them from the insidious green lights. Draco began to tremble, and every fiber of his body urged him to reach up, to take the snake in his hand and let it slither into his blood, to ride the wave of power until he was left a husk, to kiss the skull and allow the Dark Mark to override him. He began to grasp for it, his fingers brushing against the red bubble of light he was encased in. He knew how good it would feel to let Voldemort have his way. Somehow, though, his hand got caught in a head of tangly black curls, and instead of probing his way to the Dark Mark, Draco’s fingers brushed along a raised thunderbolt scar. Draco’s vision went white hot at the touch, and Potter screamed, plunging them both into true unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! Rough one, am I right? A lot of these themes are going to be present in the rest of the story, so be aware! Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or comments on this story, I sincerely appreciate it. Also, I still need folks to help me out with the editing of this monster, so anyone who is interested, please comment and let me know! <3


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